


A dream is a wish your heart makes

by Dummy_Writer



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Fix-It, Harry Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:52:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5818372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dummy_Writer/pseuds/Dummy_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream? Hallucination? Or ghost? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Whatever it was, it was still Harry so he’d take it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A dream is a wish your heart makes

* * *

 

 

Eggsy has never been one to remember his nightmares. He wakes up from them shaking in cold sweat but doesn’t remember anything that happened in them. Doesn’t get reminded of them when he goes about his everyday life the way he sees Roxie does. Doesn’t wake up from nightmares of all his agents dying and have to desperately login and check on their vitals like he knows Merlin does. Doesn’t scream in his sleep remembering Dean like Mum does.

 

The good ones though, those he always remembers. He wakes from dreams of his fifth birthday and can almost taste the cotton candy melting in his mouth, remembers dreams in which Daisy was little Alice in Wonderland and wakes up to play the Mad Hatter with her. Wakes with music playing in his head and waltzes Roxy even though she rolls his eyes at him. Wakes from dreams where Humpty Dumpty looks suspiciously like Merlin and cannot look him in the eye for the whole day for fear of laughing.

 

And then there are the other dreams. Dreams where Harry is alive and _his_. Dreams where a spider web scar extends over the side of Harry’s face and he chides Eggsy to take his goddamn feet off the table. Dreams where he doesn’t realise they aren’t real, that the soft kisses waking him up were never there. Stupid, giddy, happy dreams where there’s Daisy babysitting and complaining about only being three years older than her nephew, dreams with a little baby girl with Harry’s eyes who is lactose intolerant and insists that Papa do the pirate voice since he already has the eye-patch.

 

Dreams where they are happy and have a life that they’ve built together, where Harry isn’t fucking _dead_ and his thin lips seem almost permanently curved into a smile.

 

Those dreams hurt. Those dreams he does not want to wake from. Those dreams make him lose his mind and sit all day in a room whose walls are filled with newspaper covers, wondering which stories Harry put off telling him because he thought he had time. Those dreams he wakes up from as a different person. He peacefully counts Harry’s heartbeat under his ears only to jolt awake to an empty bed. He wakes up still half asleep and calls out for his husband and children to wake up only to realise they’re not real. They never were, never will be. Harry is dead, he remembers and grieves over and over and over again, like it’s the very first time, like he’s watching on the screen as Valentine points a gun, doesn’t even look, fucking doesn’t _need_ to look and just...

 

Harry is dead.

 

* * *

 

Until suddenly it’s not just dreams where he sees Harry.

 

He’s sitting in Arthur’s office in Arthur’s chair. The scar on his face isn’t quite what it’s like in Eggsy’s dreams, more a linear piece of white skin than the patchwork in dreams, there isn’t an eye-patch in sight. Instead there’s a tremor in his left hand that isn’t quite as obvious when he places both hands on the handle of his rainmaker, there is more grey in the hair than before.

 

But Eggsy hasn’t dreamt of him almost every single day for nothing and he doesn’t look at Harry, stares instead at his hands and begins counting all his fingers.

 

10 all in all, 5 on each hand. Not dreaming then. Well, if Harry’s ghost was anything like the Harry of his dreams he’d appreciate a good joke.

 

“I see dead people.”

 

Harry’s ghost snorts and shakes his head. Crazy old bastard.

 

Eggsy keeps his distance though. Doesn’t want to try to hold onto Harry only for his hands to slip right through him, doesn’t want that reminder that he’s dead. No, it’d be much better to pretend that way. He says his hello, has those conversations they always did and then says his goodbyes. Leaves and asks Merlin who the new Arthur is only to get a blank deadpan look and a ‘Very funny’ from the man. Figures it’s above his clearance level and shrugs it off.

 

He never does get to meet Arthur. Harry’s ghost is always in the office but Arthur never is. Strange man whoever Arthur is, or perhaps it’s a woman.

 

But Harry’s there, always. Voice coming out of nowhere, sounding eerily like he’s hijacked the speaker system. When Eggsy needs to see him he finds him in Arthur’s office, looking like he belongs there, that tosser. Always had a helpful bit of advice to give him when he was missions, sounding so wistful while Eggsy was unsurprised that the thing Harry missed most about living was almost dying.

 

But his ghost never followed him home and Eggsy was grateful for that. Wouldn’t know how to deal with Harry’s ghost standing where his dream self had stood. Wouldn’t be able to keep the lines from blurring really.

 

Not that they would anymore. No, his dreams had decided the ghost was all he would have of Harry.

 

It was enough. It was _something_.

 

* * *

 

Until Harry’s not dead anymore.

 

Eggsy’s hiding behind a wall, Harry’s ghost right there with him. “Cover me!” Harry yells and clearly doesn’t expect the gurgle of laughter that leaves Eggsy.

 

“Cover you?” Eggsy says incredulous and more than a little bit bitter. He doesn’t actually need the reminder, especially not now. You’d think ghosts had more tact than that. “What, like they’re actually going to touch you? Not wasting bullets.”

 

Harry looks broken. Eggsy’s never actually seen him look like that and he rolls his eyes and ducks as another volley of bullets is released.

 

“Shit.” Harry says in his cool calm voice and squats next to Eggsy. “That last one grazed me.” There’s a thin line of blood along his neck, his hair is in an unusual state of disarray but what really gets Eggsy’s attention is the crumpled bullet that falls off his suit with a chiming sound. The gunfire becomes secondary as he picks it up with shaking hands, pressing down on it with his fingers until it hurts and then he stops.

 

“You’re real.”

 

Harry looks at him, confused. “Of course I’m real.”

 

“Y-You’re—“

 

Real. Corporeal. Alive.

 

Not. A. Ghost.

 

And just as liable to get shot again.

 

“Cover me.” Eggsy says and rushes out before Harry has the chance to reply he ducks out from behind the wall and kills, maims, bloodies them all until there’s silence.

 

_“You mind telling me what the fuck was that all about_?” Merlin says into his ear and it grounds him somehow.

 

“Merlin, just to clarify, Arthur is Harry?”

 

_“Yes?”_ Merlin is wondering where this is going but Eggsy has no words to explain. Judging by the shocked, sad look in Harry’s eyes though, he does.

 

“Harry’s alive?”

 

_“Yes.”_

 

“I am.” Harry croaks out.

 

“Not a ghost?”

 

“No.”

* * *

 

There is a kiss pressed behind his ear, a gruff whisper of sounds that try to be words tickling his ear and a hand running through his hair before pulling away. There is a yawn and a stretch that presses vast expanse of skin against his back and Eggsy’s eyes flutter open.

 

10 fingers all in all, 5 on each hand before they’re captured by a larger pair of hands that hold them up to the sunlight streaming in, turning them translucent, blurring the edges with light.

 

Not a dream. Better.


End file.
